


Doggy Style

by andr0meda_c1rce



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Jason Finds it Adorable, Jason Todd Being Jason Todd, Jason Todd Swears, M/M, Mutual Pining, Okay Tim is A Precious Cinnamon Roll And Is Bad At Flirting, Tim Drake Has a Bad Time, Tim Drake is So Done, lots of teasing, this could be a crackfic but I swear I am taking this with the UTMOST SERIOUSNESS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25650529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andr0meda_c1rce/pseuds/andr0meda_c1rce
Summary: Jason gets turned into a dog by a vengeful sorcerer and Tim deals with the aftermath.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 5
Kudos: 119





	Doggy Style

**Author's Note:**

> This is a purely self-indulgent, fluff-filled fic that I got a very strong craving for sometime last night. It's my first time writing Jaytim, and I just love the dynamics between these two, so I'm having a lot of fun writing this. Hope you guys enjoy this absolutely chaotic creation.

The bathwater has turned lukewarm and Tim’s fingers are beginning to prune when he hears the scratching at his door.

He lifts his head from where it’d fallen back to rest against the tub edge, sloshing water over the side as he shifts into a sitting position. “Hello?”

More water drips onto the tiles as he steps out of the tub, pulling a fluffy blue robe around his shoulders and tying it at the waist. The tub makes a gurgling nose as he pulls out the plug.

“Who’s there?” he calls out.

The scratching noise grows louder and more frantic. After a moment’s pause, Tim grabs his shuriken from the sink and pads slowly to the entrance foyer.

“I’ll ask one more time,” he says loudly at the closed door, tightening his grip on the shuriken, “Who’s there?”

The scratching stops, and Tim counts ten beats before a soft, low whine sounds.

And then, “ _Tim.”_

Tim could place that voice in his sleep, that familiar low drawl. He’s only spent the better part of his life listening to it. Listening _for it_. 

Tim moves quickly to the door, tucking the shuriken into his robe packet and unlatching the door locks. “Jason, you _asshole,_ why didn’t you _say anything_.” He keys in the security passcode, letting out a soft huff of breath,

“Thought I was being fucking robbed.” He turns the handle, pulling the door open, “What are you even doing here this late, I-” The words die on the tip of his tongue.

“Tim,” and Tim’s eyes drop to the doormat, going wide. “I need your help,” says Jason. Except it’s not Jason, not really.

Tim stares at the black dog seated at his feet, its fur wet, and matted with bits of soil and mud.

The dog returns Tim’s stare with a withering glare that is disturbingly familiar and absolutely alien all at once.

His stomach drops.

“Holy shit, am I hallucinating?”

“Gee, Babybird, and here I thought you were supposed to be the _smart one._ ” And it’s Jason’s voice, using that damn nickname that Tim _hates,_ and his words all have that same sarcastic lilt to them, but they’re coming out of a _dog’s mouth, and-_

“You’re a _dog_!”

Jason does an impression of what Tim assumes to be the dog equivalent of rolling his eyes, and stands, sauntering around Tim’s legs and into his apartment.

Tim’s left staring after him, jaw working hopelessly, “What…I…But… _How?_ ” He sucks in a sharp breath, running a furious hand through his hair, “Oh my god, we have to call Bruce.” He shuts the door, racing towards the kitchen island and grabbing his phone. “I’m calling Bruce _right now._ ”

Jason pauses from where he’s sniffing at Tim’s trainers, and looks up in alarm, ears pricked. “ _No._ I will _kill you_ , don’t even fucking dare!”

Tim’s fingers pause over the dial buttons, and his hand drops to hang loosely by his side. “We _have to,_ Jason _._ This is an _emergency.”_

“No shit,” Jason all but barks, stalking towards Tim. His mouth pulls back to reveal sharp, glinting canines and Tim swallows hard.

Jason stills at that, eyes studying Tim’s face and then he says, softer, slower this time, “Don’t call Bruce.”

And Jason doesn’t need to say anything else, because Tim’s always been good at understanding what his predecessor needs, so he simply slides the phone back onto the island. “Okay.”

Jason’s ears relax, his tail wagging softly, and _holy shit,_ Tim thinks, _Jason has a tail_ , which shouldn’t come as a surprise because he _is a dog,_ and suddenly Tim feels his brain short-circuiting again.

“You must be hungry,” he blurts out, because he has to say something, _do something_ , anything to distract himself from his rapidly derailing train of thought.

He rifles through the pantry cupboards, fishing out an open box of pop-tarts, and shakes it at Jason, “Dinner?” He glances at the wall clock, amending quickly, “Or should I say breakfast?”

Tim’s never really seen Jason scared before, but he thinks the way he’s eyeing Tim right now might come pretty close. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Tim chews on his bottom lip, frowning, “What?”

Jason’s nose twitches, “I’m not having fucking pop-tarts for dinner.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim grumbles, tone just on this edge of surly, “Would you prefer dog biscuits?”

“I will _literally_ rip out your fucking throat.” 

Tim sets the box down on the countertop with a little more force than is necessary, “Do that, and you’re stuck like…” He waves a hand, motioning in Jason’s general direction, “…this.”

It’s weird, competing in a stare-off with a dog, but that’s exactly what’s happening, Tim realises, as both he and Jason level one another with equally furious glares.

“I’m not eating pop-tarts, Babybird,” Jason says, voice low, and rumbling with displeasure.

Tim lets out a relenting sigh, rolling his eyes skyward, “Fine, Jason. _Fine._ ”

He searches through the remaining cupboards, finding two jars of ground espresso, a container of herbal tea leaves that Steph has been addicted to lately, and in the cutlery drawer there’s an open packet of stale ramen noodles that have long since passed their expiry date. 

Tim clicks his tongue in frustration, yanking open the fridge. Jason winds around his feet, tipping his nose up into the air and sniffing, “Where the fuck is all of your food?”

“I need to go grocery shopping,” he says weakly, taking inventory of the fridge contents; an almost empty-bottle of ketchup, half a loaf of stale bread, two eggs, and a wilting sprig of parsley which he _definitely_ does not recall buying.

Jason makes a noise somewhere deep in the back of his throat, “No shit.”

Tim pulls out the eggs and parsley, holding them up to Jason. “Will an omelette suffice, your highness?”

Jason’s mouth turns up at the sides into a dog-version of a grin, “It’ll do.”

Tim’s eye twitches.

“Relax, Timbo. I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Tim sets the eggs and parsley down by the stove, then puts both hands on his hips, frowning down at the specks of grey and brown in Jason’s coat

“What?”

“Is that mud?”

Jason lifts a paw in the air and sniffs, “Fuck, I hope so.”

Tim wrinkles his nose, “Okay, change of plans. First, bath. Then, breakfast.”

…

Tim turns off the faucet, dipping his fingers into the water. “Okay,” he says once he’s satisfied, pulling out his hand and shaking it dry, “That should be warm enough.”

Jason acknowledges the go-ahead by bounding over the lip of the tub, landing in the water with an unceremonious splash, “Thanks Babybird.”

Tim is hard-pressed to return the gratitude, wiping the spatter of mud and water from his face, “Right.”

Jason turns onto his back, the water sloshing against his sides turning brown and murky. When he sees Tim watching, he rolls onto all fours, and Tim barely has time to throw a hand out in front of his face, before Jason’s shaking himself dry, drops of water landing all over Tim’s bathroom. Mostly on Tim.

“A little privacy, Timbo.”

Tim lowers his hand, cheeks growing hot, before staring down at Jason through narrowed eyes, “I’m supervising. You could hurt yourself.”

“I’m a grown-ass man-”

“You’re a _dog_.”

The growl that leaves Jason’s throat is decidedly unfriendly, and Tim throws up his hands in surrender, backtracking, “What if you drown?”

“ _Get. Out.”_

Tim can see the gleaming points of Jason’s teeth beginning to peek out from beneath his top lip. He grabs a comb, holding it out in front of him like some sort of piece offering, “I can help you get the dirt out.”

Taking Jason’s silence as a good sign, he reaches up to the floating shelf with his free hand and grabs the shampoo bottle, “And I can help you wash your…” his tongue fumbles over the words, “…uh…fur?”

Jason stares at him long enough that Tim’s beginning to twitch uncomfortably, and then he turns around, facing the wall opposite Tim, and settles onto his haunches. “Just the comb.”

Tim sets down the shampoo bottle and approaches the edge of the bath slowly. He presses the comb gingerly against the base of Jason’s head, waits for the stiffness at Jason’s shoulders to soften, before running the comb down through the thick, black fur across Jason’s back. “So, how exactly did this happen, anyway?”

Jason looks up at him through lidded eyes, tail thumping softly against the tub wall, “Pissed off a sorcerer.”

Tim hums, unfazed, because that’s their normal now. “How?”

“Blew up his warehouses.” Jason’s eyes close as Tim smooths a hand over his side.

“Right.”

Tim traces a path up along Jason’s neck, and Jason makes a soft rumbling noise of appreciation when Tim’s fingers finds the spot behind his ears, massaging gently.

“How are you going to fix this?”

Jason blinks up at Tim, slow and lazy, “I came to you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

And Tim feels like he might combust on the spot into a million, bite-sized pieces.

…

So he likes Jason. A little. Okay, maybe more than a little.

But he’s a hot-blooded, young adult, he reasons, and Jason’s tall, and so deliciously _big_ , and he’s always smiling at Tim with that sinfully dangerous tilt to his mouth, and it’s only _natural_ what Tim feels - a befitting concoction of chemical and neural responses fired in his brain. Hormones. It’s all hormones. Plain and simple.

He can hear Stephanie laughing in his mind, goddamn her, _‘Timmy please, you’d jump off the edge of a roof with no grapnel if_ Jay _told you to.’_

Tim grumbles at the jeering voice in his head.

He wouldn’t, for the record.

He slips on a pair of sweatpants, tugging them furiously over his hips.

Okay, he wouldn’t do it again.

He only did it the first time because…. because…Jason had asked him to. Very politely. With his guns.

_Fuck._

Tim’s standing at the foot of the bed, shrugging into an over-sized shirt and battling an internal crisis when he sees Jason standing in the doorway, head cocked to the side and regarding him curiously. “You smell weird.”

Tim tries not to feel offended, raising a shoulder to sniff himself as surreptitiously as he can. “I just showered.”

“No,” says Jason, hopping up onto the bed, where Tim’s carefully arranged a plethora of pillows, “Not bad _,_ just _weird_.” He presses his nose up against Tim’s chest, sniffing, and Tim lets out a squawk of protest, “ _Jay.”_

“You’re _nervous_.” Jason’s ears perk up, “Why do you smell nervous?”

Tim freezes, blinking down at Jay with eyes that he knows are far too wide and telling.

Jason pushes back from Tim. “Is it me? Do I make you nervous?” and Tim can hear the grin in his voice, feels the breath stutter in his chest.

“No,” he squeaks.

Jason bares his teeth in what Tim believes to be some semblance of a smile, “Are you sure, Babybird?”

Tim licks his lips, speaking far more confidently than he feels. “Stop annoying me, or I’ll make you sleep on the floor.”

Jason just laughs, like the threat doesn’t concern him, and to be fair, it probably doesn’t. He circles in his makeshift pillow-nest a few times, before laying down, head propped on his front paws, staring up at Tim with blue eyes that are soft with laughter.

“Night Babybird,” Tim can see the smirk accompanying those words, vivid in his mind’s eye. It’s a smirk that spells trouble.

And that’s when Tim realises he’s well and truly screwed.

“Night, Jay.”


End file.
